Eleven Days (17 page)

Sally looked up at me. “You look a little strange.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Must be a pretty bad thought.”

Dan, of course, said, “I know I’ve seen one of these before. I know I have.”

“Where?”

“I can’t remember.”

Now, knowing Dan, he might actually have seen one before. Then again, he might not. Or he might have seen something similar …

“You know,” said Sally, “so have I.”

“Where?”

“You know Liz Mills?”

“Sort of.” Not before yesterday afternoon and Helen Bockman’s weird tale.

“Well, about a month ago, she was down in one of the bars, and she was wearing one just like that. I noticed because it stood out against that black sweater she had on. You know what she’s like—always showing off her chest to all the men, and she always wears something tight and tries to use jewelry to make them notice.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Oh, sure. She thinks she’s pretty hot stuff. Lets everybody
know that she’s, well, available, you know? That long, black hair.” She thought for a second. “Always showing those long legs off, too.” Afterthought.

Sally was a redhead. About five feet tall. Slender. Nothing to sneeze at, herself, but she was small all over, and sort of sensitive about it. She would be very much aware of somebody doing what she thought Liz Mills did. And would pay very close attention to what she was wearing.

“She was really showing off, Sally?”

“Makes you sick, the way she’s all over the men.”

“What does her husband think of all this?”

“Oh, he’s never with her, or hardly ever.”

“He thinks that going barhopping alone is good for her?”

“She doesn’t go alone, silly. She’s always with that little slut who works for Human Services … oh, what’s her name …”

“What does she look like?”

“Oh, small blonde, but overweight. Big butt. Mouthy.”

“Oh,” said Dan. “I know her. Uh … name begins with a ‘Z.’ ”

“Right!” said Sally. “That’s her, Hedda, I think, Hedda, Hedda …”

“Let’s look it up in the phone book,” I suggested.

Sally grabbed the book first. Not fair, it was closer to her. She found it right away. Only seven Z entries. H. Zeiss, like in the binoculars.

“Here she is.”

“She single, Sally?” I asked.

“Of course. You’d have to be crazy to marry her.”

“Why’s that?”

“She screws anybody she can.” Her face reddened. “And I mean
anybody
. She even hit on me once.”

“You’re kidding. How long has she lived around here?”

“About two years,” said Dan. “Lived in the apartment above Summerman’s store, then bought that house at the
lower end of town. Her mom died up at the nursing home in Decorah, and she and her brother got a lot of money.”

Sally, Eddie, and I all looked at Dan.

His face very slowly turned red. “Hey, I just talk to people …”

“And where do you talk to her, Dan?” asked Sally in a syrupy voice.

“No, hey, guys, really. She comes up to me when I’m sitting on the corner. She just likes to talk.”

“Sure, Dan.”

“No, really.”

I went home and got to bed just as Sue was getting up.

I woke at 14:30, back on schedule and ready to go to work at 20:00. The phone rang at 15:15. We were having a meeting at the office at 16:00 and they wanted me there. The man from NYPD had come in with Hal, and Judd Norman, the deputy state fire marshal, would give us the rundown on the fire.

Got to the office early, of course. So did just about everybody else.

All eight of us, two DCI agents, the guest from New York, Judd, and a small man I didn’t know, but who seemed quite at home with the state officers.

We didn’t have enough room to seat everybody except the kitchen, and we had people sitting on the counter and the floor.

Lamar started it off by introducing the small man as Brian Nieuhaus, from the state attorney general’s office. He would be handling the case for them. While he was being introduced, our county attorney, Mark Fueller, and
his assistant, Mitch Hamilton, came in. We all had to shift, as guests get the chairs.

The presence of the man from the AG’s office surprised me quite a bit, because that meant that we probably had a suspect. I didn’t know who that might be. I mean, several names came to mind, but none of diem were what I would think of as really good possibilities.

I nudged Art, who was on the counter beside me.

“We arrest somebody?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I wonder. The AG usually doesn’t send somebody up unless we have a suspect in custody.”

“Nobody said anything to me. But that’s not unusual.”

Lamar restarted, by saying that Nieuhaus wanted to make a brief statement.

Nieuhaus stood. “Gentlemen,” he began, “this is an unusual case.” I noticed Hester bristle a bit when he failed to recognize her presence. He paused. If he’s pausing for effect, I thought, it’s wasted. We already know that it’s unusual.

“My boss,” he said, “and the governor are both very concerned about some of the ramifications in these murders. There has already been some national media coverage, and the local media here in Iowa are assigning people to cover the case in depth.” He paused again. This time he had our attention.

“Now, I don’t know how many of you have ever been the target of ‘in-depth’ coverage by the media, but let me assure you it can be a very unpleasant experience.”

We had had some experience, but I couldn’t remember any thorough coverage in the last fifteen years. Couldn’t remember any “adequate” coverage, either, for that matter.

“Your first tendency, gentlemen, is to either be fully cooperative or to withhold everything.”

Lamar grinned. So did I.

“In either case,” he continued, “you will have a problem,
and with the extreme sensitivity of this matter, my boss and the governor feel that there could be a panic reaction on the part of the public. There could also be,” he said, “enough sensationalism to ruin the case.” He paused again. “That, we don’t want.”

He gestured toward the NYPD detective. “I am very glad to see Detective Saperstein here today. He has handled this sort of matter before, and I am sure he will prove invaluable to us, both from the investigative end and from the media relations standpoint.”

Saperstein nodded. He looked pretty cool, and very serious.

Nieuhaus went on.

“Attorney General Scholle has asked your county attorney here to handle all media relations regarding this case.

“He feels that the ‘clearinghouse’ approach to the media in this case is essential. With the small number of officers available, it was also thought to be a good idea to let you work the case, and not to take one of you off to handle the press.”

In other words, we don’t want one of you dummies talking to the media. Fine by me.

“Just for your own information,” said Nieuhaus, “the
Des Moines Register
already has a two-man team in place in this county. They will probably remain here in Maitland for some time, gathering information and talking to everybody they can get their hands on.” He paused again. I remember thinking that this guy might be pretty good in the courtroom. “A major network news team is also on its way.”

“Not
60 Minutes?”
I said. “Please, not
60 Minutes
.”

We all laughed. Except Saperstein, I noticed.

“No,” said Nieuhaus, “not
60 Minutes
. We haven’t fucked the case up yet.”

At least he said “We.”

“I believe,” said Nieuhaus, “that Mark has something to say.”

Our county attorney stood up. Mark Fueller was a pretty good attorney, and was considered part-time as a prosecutor, mostly because the county didn’t want to pay him a living wage. He was a sincere man, one who probably had had nightmares about this sort of case.

“Just refer all media inquiries to me. After they get used to it, we shouldn’t have any problems.”

He looked around the room.

“But don’t go around shooting off your mouth. Not in restaurants, not in bars, not even at home. We want a lid on this, except through me or Mitch. Understand?”

We all nodded.

“I want to control all outgoing information. I
will
control it. I want that understood.”

I nudged Art again, and whispered, “You think Theo’s gonna move in with him?”

Art nudged back. A little harder than was absolutely necessary.

“Now, I know,” said Fueller, “that there’s already been a lot of speculation out there. It will continue. But absolutely nothing with an official stamp on it goes out unless it’s through me.”

I looked at Theo. He was nodding his head vigorously. You bet, Theo. He was the biggest leak we had. And probably would continue to be.

Fueller sat back down. Lamar stood.

“Okay, now Detective Saperstein wants to say a couple of things here. He’ll brief some of us more fully later, but he just wants to say a couple of words to all of us.” He turned to Saperstein. “Go ahead, Bill.”

Saperstein got up and leaned against the refrigerator. He had very sad eyes, I thought. But also very intense.

“This is a lovely area here. I hate to see something like this happen in such a place.” He looked around the room. “Anybody here ever been involved in a cult-related murder
before?” No response. “Then it’s safe to assume that you’ve never been involved in a Satanic-cult-related murder.” He gave a smile that was more like a tic than a grin.

“The first thing you have to know is this: Satanism doesn’t mean that there is a red-faced man with horns and a tail involved. There is no magic. There are no spells that work, no incantations that produce any mystical effects. Likewise, you aren’t dealing with ignorant or markedly stupid people. You’ll find that out when you interrogate them. These people are really dangerous, in a way, but not in the way most people think.

“The only way to get a conviction, to get an arrest, to even get a suspect, is to play it absolutely straight. Good police work, all the way. Don’t get involved in the religious aspects, except as to how it directly relates to the case. Satanism is a legal religion in the USA. You can be a Satanist, that’s all right. Don’t forget that. But with Satanism, you are dealing with a whole different mind-set. That’s the essential point. The mind-set.”

He lit a cigarette. “Look at it this way. Most of you are Christians, of one sort or another. Even if you never go to church. I’m sort of Jewish.” He snapped out a grin. “But we have all been brought up with certain standards of behavior drummed into us from day one. If we violate those standards, we feel guilt. If we feel guilt, we are vulnerable to all the standard investigative techniques and interrogation approaches. The guilt does all the work. The cops just have to ask the right questions.”

He thought for a second. “What I’ve heard about this case on the drive up here, I think the odds are that it’s not a dyed-in-the-wool Satanist who is your perpetrator. But I know that the crime is Satanic in origin.” He put out his cigarette. “I’ll explain that later. What is important is that you are dealing with people who are highly motivated, and who, on both sides of the homicides, aren’t going to feel guilt as you and I understand the term.”

He leaned back against the refrigerator again. “Satanism
and its associated groups only produce a psychological effect upon the believers. The mind-set. They can do nothing you and I would consider wrong. Because to them, it isn’t wrong. And, in this case, I suspect that the perp acted from what he or she considers noble and righteous motives. We’ve got a perp with a ‘mission,’ whatever the origin of the motives for the killings. The motive appears to be vengeance, judging from the methods used. There will be a twisted logic involved. You’ll probably never figure it out until after the case is solved. Maybe not even then. But the motive is human, not supernatural. Don’t forget that aspect, ever. These are people, even if they’re a little less sane than most. Even if they don’t subscribe to what we would consider normal standards of behavior. Even if they can kill and maim and torture without any shred of remorse. Sociopaths have the same human motivations as anyone else. They just don’t feel sorry afterward, that’s all. Satanists have the same ‘advantage,’ if you will.”

He sat back down abruptly. It was very, very quiet in the kitchen. I was going to like this man.

Lamar broke the silence. “Okay, now I think Agent Gorse has something for us.”

Hester didn’t bother to stand. “Rachel Larsen is not in Iowa City, we’re pretty sure. She’s gone to ground, but we don’t know where.

“All the lab tests from the crime scene are in.” She took some sheets of paper out of a folder and started them around the room. “Take a look at these, and I’ll explain them to you.”

The sheets, and there were twelve of them, looked something like this:

Every exhibit taken had been processed, and there were lots of exhibits.

“Now,” said Hester with a smile, “this is what it means. All these are what they call independently inherited factors. Physiological fluids can be identified and traced this way to a specific individual. These genetic markers are what they refer to as polymorphic, meaning that they vary from individual to individual.

“ABO is the standard blood typing, with four types of blood found in humans: A, B, O, and AB. The PGM stands for phosphoglucocomutase, and that’s an enzyme found in blood, semen, etc. That stuff is classified as 1+, 1–, 2+, and 2–. Everybody has two of the four factors.

“EAP is erythrocyte acid phosphatase, and that’s a three-factor genetic marker with the three factors being A, B, or C, and everybody has one or two of those.